Chapter Eight
The next day at the bookshop was a blur of gift-wrapping (Raye had warned Ivy about paper cuts: ‘a real hazard of the job’) and customers outdoing each other with increasingly impossible questions (‘I want that novel about the couple who befriend a fox? It was on the radio?’).
Not to mention the growing mountain of WhatsApp messages from the show committee, of which Mr Hargreaves rapidly – and predictably – seemed to be losing control.
Ivy muted it on a regular basis for self-care reasons, dreading the imminent beginning of rehearsals when she would have to actually start contributing.
That morning was Story-time Adventure, a regular reading hour that Josie insisted on with the local children – the children being Ivy’s least favourite part of the job, with their sticky hands and outlandish questions.
‘I’ll do it,’ Trip told her as she complained over her coffee. He had started to bring Ivy a double espresso on the way back from his run. ‘Seriously. I like that sort of thing.’
‘You can’t like it,’ Ivy told him. She eyed him as he checked the weather app on his phone. ‘Why do you keep checking? It’s cold and grey, basically, for the foreseeable. This isn’t California, Trip. You signed up to an English winter, this is what you’re going to get.’
Trip flushed and put his phone back in his pocket. ‘It says it’s going to be unusually cold,’ he said. ‘I wondered if it might snow.’
‘Don’t be fooled by Dickens – we don’t get white Christmases here,’ Ivy said brutally. ‘Now are you really sure about doing Story-time Adventure or were you just teasing me? Because the kids will be here any second.’
Of course Trip took to it with ease, happily reading Where the Wild Things Are, baring his terrible claws and gnashing his terrible teeth to whoops and shrieks of delight.
‘He’s a natural,’ sighed Josie happily, watching on from the doorway. ‘Such positive energy.’
‘Unlike his sister,’ Ivy said, nodding to Brooke, who was marching across the shop floor on her way out for the day, sunglasses jammed on despite the grey skies, typing furiously on her phone. ‘Isn’t this meant to be her holiday? Where does she rush off to every day?’
Josie looked after Brooke as she hurried out of the shop, letting the door bang shut behind her.
‘I can’t make her out either, darling,’ she admitted.
‘If she’s Trip’s sister, she must have positive energy as well.
She probably just … hides hers better.’ Josie frowned thoughtfully.
‘But you’re right – I do wonder where she goes every day.
Now darling, we must start decorating in earnest this weekend.
I refuse to miss an opportunity for extra fairy lights. ’
On Saturday morning, Ivy got into the shop early to sketch, away from Liv’s endless chatter about the show. She found Brooke already awake and lacing up running shoes.
‘So you’re an early-riser, beach-runner type like your brother?’ said Ivy, still trying to probe their mystery guest.
Brooke shrugged, hoisting one toned leg up on to the stool to stretch. ‘In California, getting up at sunrise to do some form of physical activity is kind of part of the deal,’ she said.
‘Do you also like yoga? And random acts of kindness?’ Ivy asked, wondering if Josie was right and the siblings were more similar than she’d thought. ‘And dogs?’
Brooke snorted. ‘If you’re asking if me and Trip are alike, in case you haven’t guessed, the answer is no,’ she said.
‘We’re about as different as you could be to a blood relation.
He’s like the yang to my yin. Case in point?
I hate yoga. I spend the whole class thinking about the things I have to do after it’s over and wishing I was doing them instead.
I hate dogs – the slobber. And as for random acts of kindness …
’ Her voice softened. ‘My brother is too nice for his own good.’
Just then Trip himself arrived with damp hair and a paper bag of pastries. ‘Did you guys know there’s an old lighthouse along the cliff path and over the bay?’ he said. ‘And also, it’s really raining out.’
‘Nope,’ said Brooke, pulling out her phone and scrolling through her notes app. She absently held out a hand and her brother put a coffee cup into it. ‘A lighthouse is not on my list of local Cornish attractions.’ She looked up at Ivy accusingly. ‘Do you know about this lighthouse?’
‘Of course I know about it,’ Ivy said, biting into her own croissant and wondering why Brooke cared so much. ‘It’s not in any of the travel stuff though – it’s a secret. Fox Bay has a few of those. Secret sights that only the locals know.’
‘Interesting,’ said Brooke thoughtfully. ‘Secret sights.’
‘It sounds amazing,’ Trip said. ‘We should check it out, Brooke. It’s all boarded up. Old Bill says it’s haunted.’
‘Of course he does,’ said Ivy, grinning. ‘Bill never lets the truth get in the way of a good story. And a trusting American is an easy target …’
‘Apparently,’ Trip went on, ‘the ghost of the old lighthouse keeper appears at the window when the moon goes behind a cloud and a beam shines out to sea. Even when no light should be on.’
‘Sounds dangerous to me,’ said Ivy, chewing. ‘Someone should warn the Coastguard.’
Brooke took a swig of coffee and made a noise of irritation. ‘The lighthouse isn’t on any of those stupid “Hidden Cornwall” websites I’ve been using.’
Ivy finished her breakfast, wiped her fingers and picked up the box marked ‘Winter Wonderland Window Display’. Josie had asked her to tackle it that weekend – although, once she picked off the lashings of yellowing Sellotape, she realised it mostly seemed to consist of a tangle of fairy lights.
She was wrestling with them – and fending off Trip’s offers of help, while Brooke told them to pipe down – when the shop bell chimed and Mr Hargreaves appeared in his usual scuffed shoes and slightly-too-short trousers, rain clinging to his jacket sleeves.
His hair puffed out in little white wisps and he looked exhausted-yet-wildly hopeful – his default expression, as Ivy remembered well from countless assemblies in which he had urged them to take up a new cause.
His face lit up when he saw Ivy and she let out a mental groan. Wasn’t it enough that she was on the WhatsApp group? Did he have to come to her place of work too?
‘Ah, Ivy! There you are!’ he said, as his glasses fogged up. ‘You haven’t been responding on WhatsApp.’
‘Where else would I be?’ she couldn’t resist saying. ‘I work here. And, um, I think my phone is broken.’
‘I wanted to make sure you’re coming to the meeting tomorrow night – Mr Patterson has some questions for you. I’ve got a wonderful feeling about this show,’ he said. ‘Cornish culture across the ages. Where the mythical meets the modern.’
‘Sounds ambitious,’ drawled Brooke. ‘This is a kids’ show, right?’
Mr Hargreaves beamed. ‘It is ambitious. As all the best creative endeavours should be.’
‘So why does Mr Patterson need to talk to me?’ Ivy asked suspiciously. ‘I’m props only.’
‘It’s something to do with a new pagan ritual set piece.’
Ivy stared. ‘A pagan ritual? In a children’s show?’
Brooke cackled. ‘Oh, I’m definitely coming to this.’
‘It’s very bold,’ Mr Hargreaves said, nodding earnestly.
‘But between us, I’m not entirely sure everyone will be on board.
Mr Trenwith – do you know him? Always wearing the cargo trousers?
He’s already threatening to pull his twins out unless we stick to something more traditional and he’s very influential on the PTA.
Anyway, I’m sure we can come to a compromise.
Can I leave the stone circle to you?’ He beamed at her. ‘I’ve always valued your vision, Ivy.’
Ivy glared at him. ‘You gave me an F in History. When I was nine.’
‘Well. Yes.’ He smiled again, sheepishly. ‘I should have realised that you’re a creative spirit Ivy and you couldn’t be pinned down by facts and dates. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m relying on you!’
Mr Hargreaves bustled out again, taking with him the smell of wet wool. Trip, who had been leafing through a cookbook so quietly that Ivy had forgotten him, said, ‘Pagan rites? Sounds interesting.’
‘It sounds wild,’ said Brooke. Her phone pinged and she glanced at it. ‘For god’s sake,’ she muttered. ‘I sent the projections last week.’
‘I thought you were here for a holiday?’ said Ivy suspiciously.
‘I just have to pick up the occasional email,’ Brooke said. ‘Who was that guy?’
‘That’s Mr Hargreaves, head of the primary school.
’ Ivy sighed. ‘He’s notorious for starting big ambitious projects and then never following through, and his latest show is no exception.
I’ve been drafted in to do props.’ She chewed her nail.
‘Unfortunately, the library really needs the funds so I was hoping this one wouldn’t be a complete disaster.
Plus Liv – my little sister – she’s super excited about it.
’ She shrugged and stood, picking up the fairy lights again.
‘But it sounds like it’s descending into the usual in-fighting and ridiculousness.
The show committee need a firm hand and Mr Hargreaves isn’t it.
’ She shuddered. ‘Wrangling children and their parents. Trying to help them remember their lines. Ugh. Who would want to do stuff like that?’
‘I mean, I would,’ Trip said. ‘I love … stuff like that. Community theatre.’
Brooke smiled. ‘He really does. Freak.’
Trip leaned an elbow on the table. ‘Actually, as my darling sister knows, I spent many summers at theatre camp.’
Ivy glanced up. ‘Theatre camp? That’s not a real thing. Is it? I thought it was a staple of High School movies.’
‘Oh, it’s real,’ Trip said. ‘I started when I was nine. I started out as a sapling.’ He cleared his throat. ‘If you chop me down, you chop down all our dreams,’ he intoned solemnly.
Ivy couldn’t help laughing. ‘Stop. Oh no. That’s so sad.’
‘It was a spoken word piece about deforestation. I got a glowing review in the local paper. I preferred being behind the scenes though, so I got into the directing and stuff. Maybe I should offer to help.’
‘Or you could stop helping everyone constantly. Why would you give up your holiday to help with the school play, when you could get out of Fox Bay and explore the rest of Cornwall?’ Ivy asked.
Trip thought for a moment. ‘Because it’s … nice? In fact, why don’t you like it, Ivy?’ he asked. There was a glint of challenge in his eyes.
Ivy paused, tangled in fairy lights. ‘Hang on. I never said I didn’t like it.’
‘You don’t seem that thrilled to be here,’ said Trip.
‘You really don’t,’ Brooke agreed.
‘Oh.’ Ivy found both the siblings staring at her with their matching wide brown eyes. ‘Well, I grew up here, you know? No one loves the place where they grew up, do they?’
‘Um,’ said Trip. ‘I mean, I love where we grew up. Actually not so much where my parents live, but my grandmother’s house in Santa Cruz.
It’s right on the water.’ His voice was dreamy as he went on.
‘This old place painted pink and turquoise, with a yard that looks like a wild herb jungle and wind chimes that make music even when there’s no wind.
A bit like Wildest Dreams, come to think of it.
Who wouldn’t love growing up someplace like that? ’
There was a pause. Brooke shifted uncomfortably. There was that odd undercurrent between the siblings again, which Ivy couldn’t quite put her finger on. They didn’t mention their parents much, she thought.
‘Well, I know you think Fox Bay is a picture postcard but you try living in a postcard,’ said Ivy at last. ‘Stay here for long enough and you realise everybody knows your business. It can get suffocating.’
‘In that case,’ said Trip, ‘why did you come back?’
‘Er, I have not come back. In case you haven’t noticed I’m at art school,’ Ivy said indignantly.
‘This is the holidays. I have literally no choice. Not all of us can swan around the world on some luxurious gap year, you know. Sardinia, Rome, Paris and then … Fox Bay? Seriously? I blame that article.’
Trip shrugged, looking at the floor. ‘It sounded nice,’ he said.
‘Tell Ivy why you really wanted to come here,’ Brooke said. Her voice was teasing, but underneath she sounded unexpectedly gentle.
‘Well, I …’ Ivy was sure Trip was flushed. ‘I … wanted snow.’
She stared. ‘Snow?’
‘Yeah.’ He nodded. ‘Snow on a beach, specifically. I thought Fox Bay might have it.’
Ivy frowned. ‘Wait, that’s why you keep checking the weather app? Because you came here for snow? That’s the weirdest reason to travel halfway across the world I ever heard. And I’m afraid you’re out of luck. It’s like I said – it never snows in Fox Bay.’
‘But maybe it will this year,’ said Trip hopefully. ‘The news says it’s unusually cold.’
Ivy opened her mouth to tell him it definitely, absolutely wasn’t going to snow because it never had in her whole life, and then caught Brooke’s eye. Something in her expression made her shut her mouth.
‘Besides,’ Trip said, smiling again, ‘there’s nothing wrong with being weird – you said that yourself.’ He nudged her. ‘We can be weirdos together.’
Something caught in Ivy’s throat. Weirdos together.
‘You’re both very strange,’ Brooke said, looking at them with something like affection. ‘Now would one of you weirdos fancy doing another coffee run? The stuff in the shop tastes like mud.’